


Honey darling, I’m sorry I took you down

by starrelia



Category: Deadpool (Comics), Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man (Comicverse), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Disabled Character, Canon Divergence, Canon Pansexual Character, Canon Temporary Character Death, Cisgender, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-08
Updated: 2016-07-08
Packaged: 2018-07-22 07:09:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7424980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starrelia/pseuds/starrelia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wade’s been played. Peter’s a good guy, sure, and he saves his soul and all, but he doesn’t manage to bring him back– at least he made right by his soul, and gave him a chance at going to Heaven, right?</p><p>Even if the guilt eats him up and he can only think about how he killed a pure man, a good man, and how he must have let Spider-man down.</p><p> </p><p>[Only to realise that they are one and the same, and they’re gone forever.]</p><p>((or, an alternate take on issue #4 of Spider-man/Deadpool because I'm still hung up on that.))</p>
            </blockquote>





	Honey darling, I’m sorry I took you down

**Author's Note:**

> So! This is my first Spideypool fanfic, and to clarify, here are a few things you oughta know:
> 
> I'm still getting into the comics! I'm currently trying to get into Marvel comics in general, and I have watched the Deadpool movie. I've also watched the 1994 Spider-man cartoon, a few episodes of Spectacular Spider-man, and some of Ultimate Spider-man (I don't recommend it.).
> 
> Lord, comics are hard.
> 
> This is unbeta'd and originally posted on tumblr, though I've fixed up some mistakes from the original version and have posted it here.

It’s a simple job—or rather, it _should_ be simple, but things don’t always work out that way for the merc. **[Never does!]** the white box sings happily in his head, the voice an irritating echo that makes Wade slap the air where the white box should be. **[Can’t hit me, remember, genius? Or do I have a hit on my head like Petey here did? Can you have a hit on things that don’t exist? Obviously yes, because Peter Parker being a bad guy isn’t real!]**

“Shut up!” Wade yells out, and Shiklah side-eyes him and he doesn’t really pay her any mind. He’s sure she’s used to it now! Probably. Maybe. Hopefully enough. Still catches some people off-guard, though, and that doesn’t help anybody; most of all Deadpool, who is currently sitting on Peter Parker’s bed, next to his body, and his shoulders slump.

 **{What’ll Spidey say when he sees this?}** the yellow box suddenly says, and Wade feels cold. Well, that or the author feels cold—it’s definitely her, and she’s merely projecting into hi— **{Nah, you’re also _definitely_ cold. You just killed Spidey’s boss! The boss he _really_ is friends with! I don’t think he’ll have nice things to say to us.}**

**[Especially if it turns out that Peter Parker actually _is_ a good guy. Do you even know the bastard that put the hit out on his head? Also, hey, isn’t Peter rich? Did we happen to conveniently forget that?]**

**{Well, you gotta trust everything you see without a doubt and assume that everything your eyes tell you are right. Don’t ever ask questions!}**

Wade grunts, his shoulders still slumped and self-pity hanging over him in a heavy sheet and he shakes his head and yells. “UGGHHH! Would you both just _shut up_ so I can think this out?!” he yells out to no one in particular. “I’m well aware I fucked up ten times to Saturn!” he turns to Shiklah thing and beams up at her as best he can, and she merely raises an eyebrow. “Shiklah! Babe! Darl-“

“You killed the wrong guy.” Shiklah says. “No need to beat around the bush.” She crosses her legs and stares down at Peter, takes in his open, dull eyes and huffs. “Mistakes happen. Couldn’t help it, darling. We can go back and-“

“We gotta bring him back.” Wade says, suddenly, and laughs nervously at the glare he gets from Shiklah. “I mean, I know the resurrection you uh—you did for me the first time is probably going to take… years-“

“Weeks.” Shiklah corrects.

Wade rubs the back of his head, irritating his scars. “Weeks. Better than years. You think we can resurrect Petey in like, a few weeks after he’s gone missing and laugh it off like surpriiiiiiiise! Deadpool took Peter Parker on vacation!”

Shiklah shakes her head at that, crosses her arms, and leans in closer to Wade. “Can’t. By the time I can bring him back again, his soul’s more than likely already passed on or…” she looks back at the body. “… in this case, someone has destroyed it already.”

He inhales sharply through his nose—right. Wade, smart merc he is, the man who made ten thousand assumptions without gathering actual evidence, has forgotten that someone is currently trying to kill the fuck out of Peter’s soul. Fighting for your life is one thing, but your soul? You lose it, and that’s the most painful thing that can happen to you.

“Ya gotta connect me to him, babe.” Wade says. “I gotta fix this. Gotta…”

**[Gotta make Spidey proud!]**

**{We gotta do right by him, you mean. How can we make him proud if we already killed his boss?}**

**[Got a point there! Deady’s screwed.]**

A few bracelets smack against the side of his head as Shiklah lightly slaps him – enough to get him out of the rising need to shout at the voices in his head – and Wade looks at her with wide, lost eyes. “Huh?”

“I was _saying_ before you kindly zoned out on your wife,” Shiklah says, a sigh passing her lips, “I can connect you to him—but, it won’t be for long because of your healing factor. Your body will reject it eventually, and you’ll have to leave. But you will probably be able to save Peter Parker this way. But.” Her expression seems to sharpen then—her gaze is hard, a warning, and Wade straightens up. “ _But,_ there is no guarantee he will come back to life right now—“

“In a few days then?” Wade asks, hopeful.

“ _Probably even never.”_ Shiklah warns. “Peter Parker has died, and Death takes life, whereas Life themselves does not always give it back. You’ll still be able to save his soul from whoever that is trying to ruin it even if he doesn’t come back.”

At that, he can’t help but look away from her stern gaze. He stares at the carpet on Peter’s floor, stares at his room, and takes in how… minimalistic it is. There are very few personal touches, as though the CEO is far too scared to even make this place seem personal, even if there are clearly things that belong to him here—discarded shirts, a few watches, but nothing more. No pictures of family, nothing.

 “Yeah.” Wade nods. “I get you.” He looks at her, his mask shaping with his expression to make him look angry, determined. “I have to do this. I have to take the risk.”

Shiklah sighs then, uncrosses her arms and leans back on her hands, and she stares up at Peter’s ceiling. “I very honestly do not understand you, but let’s get to it then.”

* * *

The pain is  _a bitch_ but it’s not unfamiliar to Wade so he deals with it until he’s finally in a sort of… limbo. The netherworld, as he calls it with giggles from the voices in his head, is an area where no one really… wants to go to. It’s a sort of eternal loop, as Shiklah has tried to explain it, where those who cannot be sent to heaven or hell get sent here and disappear.

Or rather, they fade away into their own corner of pitch blackness of the nether regions **([Heheheh! You said nether regions!]** ) and live an endless loop of monotonous life.

Sometimes it’s a breeding area for something more disastrous, more _horrible_ than all those bastards he caught throwing away five-hundred chimichangas because they were all left overs, and it doesn’t take Wade long to find where Peter is being tormented.

There are visions of people that Peter _probably_ knows grabbing at him, spouting off words that Wade isn’t paying attention to and he doesn’t _care_ to listen to. Not his problem, after all.

“Yoohoo fellas! Having a party without me? That’s horrible of you! Can’t have a party with the Merc-y of The M-to the party!” he fingerguns at the visions, at Peter, and they all stare at him with… bewilderment, to say the least.

“W—what?” Peter asks, amidst all the visions, though the illusions’ angered chattering immediately quiet him down and Wade has to whip out his guns to shoot the illusions to death. They all fade away instead of dying satisfyingly and Peter falls down from his place – held up in the air – down into Wade arms. “You—you’re here?!”

“Listen! Long time to explain—someone killed you, and now someone’s trying to kill your soul!” Wade begins—rather, he mumbles, and Peter stares at him like he’s grown two heads. “Now, see, your merc with the mouth – with the guns to match, up and down and in my hands, wink wink – is here to save _your_ framed little ass!”

There’s a brief moment of silence hanging over them both, and Peter flinches and looks over to the monstrosity that is hanging over them before he looks back at Wade. “Wait—who—who killed me?”

**[We did!]**

**{Go on, tell him. Let him know.}**

**[After all, better to let him know that the monster who killed him is saving him.]**

**{You’re _never_ gonna be a better person at this rate, might as well take the first baby step!}**

“Yo, dude?! Not the time to focus on who your killer is! We got a huge ass – thing here, that the author can’t be arsed to describe because description requires a lot of effort!” Peter stares. He’s been doing _a lot_ of staring; but it doesn’t  look like confusion as much as it is… exasperation, as though he’s dealt with Wade for far too long, before he looks away back to the fishbowl man hovering over them. “Right now, _you_ need to focus on actually saving yourself! I ain’t got long here, fella!”

“How the hell am I gonna do that!?” Peter yells back, eyes wide and focusing on Wade with the most confused, doe-eyed look he has ever seen when they dart back onto the merc. A part of him – the part that isn’t the voices, the boxes – yells at him for even _thinking_ that this person is a killer.

 _‘We all make mistakes.’_ Wade tells himself.

**[But not everyone kills someone because of it.]**

“You need to focus on someone that’s like—your hero! Or something! Just focus on someone that can help you outta here. Like, the mutant ninja turtles, or Superman, Batman, the Kool-aid man, or—“ Peter claps his hands together then, breaking Wade out of his rambling, and he seems to have a look of understanding on his face. Before Wade can continue, he recoils in utter surprise as Spider-man appears before him—

His soul is glowing gold; clean as a sheet, pure white, and Wade stares at the purity and innocence and naivety that radiates from Peter like the rays from the sun.  He watches Peter web off then, moving with the grace and finesse of an expert as he heads off to the monster and…

And…

… and Wade finds himself trying to follow after him, only to trip and fall into a part of the netherworld that is pure, pitch black, like everything else. Devoid of Peter and the monstrosity that he – before he bamf’d (not as awesomely) away from the scene – hears the man call ‘Mysterio’, Wade looks around and stares at his own hands.

They’re glowing a bright, bright red and dripping with blood—he knows that, well, his soul _can’t_ have an aura, like Peter Parker who is as pure as the day he is born, but he wonders if this is what his own looks like if he could die. Does his spirit look as bloody as he does now? Does his aura resonate with his shame, his guilt?

What does his soul look like?

 _“Wade?”_ Shiklah’s voice breaks him out of his pity party and he looks up. _“Are you done? Your body is beginning to reject the sixteen inch steel inside of you, and I can’t keep you connected for any longer. Get out of there.”_

“I’m coming, my buttercup queen!” Wade yells out, though he can’t really tell if Shiklah hears him or not. Whatever; he has to get out. He wanders through the darkness for a bit until it takes form; skulls litter his path, crunching beneath his feet from how frail and weak they are, and his eyes widen as he spots Death in their current form. “Hey!” he yells out, and they turn to face him with a hollow, dead gaze—which, _obviously_.

They’re Death. Death doesn’t have living eyes. Or something; he doesn’t entirely know how these forms work. Death works in mysterious ways, and is ever changing. “Wade,” his name falls from their lips, dripping with the anguish of a lover who has been separated from their other half for thousands of years. “To see you here—in limbo… how cruel.”

They reach out with gangly hands and cup his cheeks, before they move down to grab at the bottom of his mask and slowly, gently, roll it up. A full head of blond hair falls free, and his scars are gone—and Wade looks down, avoiding the void for eyes that Death has. “Why are you here, Wade?”

Their fingers are cold on his cheeks and he vaguely hears another warning from Shiklah reminding him that he doesn’t have a lot of time. He raises his hands and rests them on Death’s shoulders, squeezing at thin skin and revealed bones, and he exhales. “I came here to save Peter Parker.” He admits. “I… killed someone I shouldn’t have.”

“And you think you can return him back?” Death asks; there’s nothing accusatory in their voice, and so Wade looks up finally. “When you return, you will not see him.” They lean in then, ever so close to Wade’s face, and he reaches up and cups Death’s rotting face.

“You mean not now, right? I won’t see him _now.”_ before Death can say anything more to his claim, he leans forward and brushes his lips against hers and blinks when he finds himself alive again. Shiklah’s glaring at him, and he smiles shakily when he realises that she probably knows he tried to kiss Death.

Well, time to sleep on the couch for a month! But at least Peter Parker’s soul is saved.

* * *

It’s the day after, and Wade stares at his phone when he has yet to get a text or call from Spider-man, which… stings, but he supposes that if Peter Parker is alive by now, then he has definitely seen the note that Wade left for him and he has definitely shown it to Spidey, and Spidey is probably more than likely  _very peeved off with him._

… shit, he did it on the same night that he made Spider-man super happy, too! **[Good going, genius.]** the white box says. **[You make Spidey have a good night then you kill his boss who turned out to be super innocent—you’re a fuckup!]**

**{At least Peter Parker is saved. Probably hates us now, and told Spider-man to just stop talking to us—like a parent! But a boss, instead. Which is basically a parent. Same thing, really, when you think about it.}**

**[We blew our chances.]**

**{Did we even have one in the first place?}**

“We did.” Wade answers, sullen, as his phone has yet to ring or even show any indication of Spider-man even returning his call. He even texts him a few times to see if he’s mad at him, and tries to call as well only to get Spider-man’s little message to leave something behind for him to answer to. And Wade already has.

No point in making another one. It doesn’t help that he didn’t get any hanky panky from Shiklah yesterday, too, so he’s a little bit grouchy that both the people important to him are more than likely _mad_ at him, ignoring him, or whatever.

Which, granted, he did try to kiss Death while he is still very much so married to the succubus queen, who is more than capable of fucking Wade’s life up. He… did also commit the murder of an innocent man.

But he made up for it. He did save Peter’s soul. Spider-man will hopefully forgive him for it, because he’s surely read the note and knows that Wade is on his way to kiiiii— _imprison_ the asshole that hired him. Also, what is with the whole Mysterio thing? Wade does not remember that being in the deal _at all_ and he frowns.

Damn it, he’s thinking a lot. He isn’t a thinker, he’s a doer, and he has nothing or no one to do. He calls Spider-man one more time, hears the automatic response, and hangs up and sighs.

Well, guess he has to subject himself to a little bit of the good ol’ cold shoulder before he can actually properly talk to either his beautiful, gorgeous, and hot as hell utterly deadly wife or his bestest friend who is also the bestest super awesomest greatest hero of all time.

Yeah, this week definitely sucks and not even Spider-man’s amazing performance the night before with his free, wild dancing can make this any better.

 

 

 

 

[What he doesn’t know is that Miles visits Peter this morning, finds the note, and hides it away before he calls the police on the murder of Peter Parker.]

 

 

 

 

* * *

When Wade goes home to Shiklah a few hours later, falls on the couch next to her and turns the TV on he doesn’t expect the news he hears. Or maybe, he does, and he just doesn’t want to think about it.

_“Today, at seven-thirty two in the morning, the body of philanthropist CEO Peter Parker was found within his flat.”_ Are the only words he hears before he sits up, stopping his appreciation of Shiklah’s beauty and his rambles, and he stares at the TV.

“I told you, he may not even come back to life.” Shiklah says and Wade looks over at her before over to the TV, in which the reporter lady talks about how whether or not this may have been an assassination attempt and the voices in his head are _screaming_ in rage. “Give it time.” Shiklah eventually says again, a sigh in her voice. “It may be that the resurrection for him is taking some time. He’ll probably be back to life _next_ week.”

He slumps his shoulders and groans. “And what’re we gonna do when he comes back to life? How are we going to explain that to, well, anyone?! … Shit! I left a note behind there!”

“I told you it was a bad idea.” She shakes her head at him. “They clearly don’t know who killed him, otherwise why haven’t they mentioned you yet?”

At that, Wade pauses. And stares at Shiklah for a bit before he brightens up. “You are absolutely brilliant and I have no clue why I didn’t think of that!”

“Distress.” Shiklah responds blankly, though she smirks at the compliment.

“Do you think, then, that Spider-man has it? Shit. Shiiiiit. I messed up, Shikkieboo. I ruined all my chances with him!” he raises his hands up when Shiklah tenses and bares her teeth at him. “Friendship! Chances at friendship! And redemption in his eyes! That’s what I meant!” she’s still glaring at him, which, Wade guesses he deserves. He deserves _a lot_ of bad things happening to him, maybe something to do with gutting and-

 

There’s a thin stretch of silence before Shiklah looks back at the television, changes the channel, and then looks at him with narrowed eyes. “Then you need to talk to Spider-man and explain yourself.” She says, simply, as though she didn’t just ask Wade to do the impossible. “You left the note behind explaining yourself, so I don’t see why he wouldn’t try and listen. After all, isn’t he a ‘hero’?” Saying that, she makes air quotes with her fingers before she folds her hands on her lap.

“The times you sound like an actually supportive wife makes me question myself, you know that?” Wade says dumbly, and Shiklah shakes his head. “No! Seriously! Supportive wife Shiklah is new. And nice! Definitely nice. You should do that more often, because it reminds me that you wuuuuuuve me!”

“You moping isn’t a nice sight.” Shiklah points out.

“Now, you’re just trying to make it seem like you’re doing this for selfish reasons. But I’m onto you. And, well, I could be _on_ you, but you aren’t _letting me_ and it’s not _fair,_ soooo…” he looks at her with the best puppy eyes he can master and internally cheers when she smirks _that_ smirk at him; the one that means he’s gonna score tonight. _Score_. He sobers up. “But—you’re probably—“

“Definitely.”

“—definitely right. I need to talk to Spidey and clear this up… now if only he’ll answer his phone.”

“He gave you his number?” Shiklah raises her eyebrow.

Wade shrugs. “I ain’t deleting it, if that’s-“

“No, no. What do you take me for, husband?” her voice becomes a tad icy near the end, but her expression isn’t that hard on him. “I’m just surprised. With the way things were going, from what I understand, I expected that to take much longer.”

He looks down at his feet. “What can I say.” he shifts. “I made a really good impression on him after I took him out to a club, and then I killed his boss. Maybe he’ll come back? Peter, I mean. Spidey coming out is also great, though. Talking to him would be _great._ So would explaining myself! Because how often do I get the chance to explain myself? Absolutely never! _Neeeever!_ Everyone always assumes I’m as bad as a bad of flaming shit, which I ain’t. I’m like, a hunk of meat in the butcher shop that you want to sink your teeth in because my meat is so fleshy. But my meat is rotting because I fucked up. A lot.”

Shiklah merely pets his head, fingers stroking over grotesque scars.

 

 

He hopes for days Peter Parker comes back, except he doesn’t. Except there are no miracles. Except there is no one on television celebrating his return. No. There’s no healing factor to save Peter Parker from death, and there is no way to suffocate the guilt in his chest.

* * *

To say that Wade is going even crazier is an understatement, but he’s definitely getting crazier each millisecond that he can’t seem to find or contact Spider-man. He never answers his calls, doesn’t send Wade any texts and now he can’t even  _find_ him patrolling the city. Ellie texts him, tells how much she misses him with how often he’s busy now, not knowing that he’s looking for his superhero that he angered, and Preston is going to come for him soon to kick his ass.

Wade counts the days, before he focuses back on his missing favourite piece of ass and… his idol.

Thinking about it and the lack of Spidey, it’s almost as if Spider-man has completely disappeared, and Wade doesn’t want to know what that means—

Shit! Is Peter Parker Spider-man’s best friend or something? Did he kill someone seriously close to Spidey? Lover? Brother? Childhood best friend?! Holy shit. If Wade seriously sent Spider-man into major depression because he’s an idiot and Spider-man isn’t responding or doing _anything_ anymore because of that, then he has seriously, seriously fucked up.

But he really doesn’t know where Spider-man is, and Wade is running around all over NYC trying to figure it out. Sometimes, only sometimes, as he’s patrolling and stomping around in his search he hears about Spider-man on some of the TV stations he’s passing by and he stares only to realise that, no, that _isn’t_ how the Spider-man he knows moves or attacks.

Or it’s the one in the black, red and white Spider-man costume—the one who is even smaller than the actual, original Spider-man, and Wade has taken to somewhat but not really, maybe, probably, but not definitely, affectionately calling that other Spider-man as Spider-kid.

It makes it easier to refer to in his head, and Wade doesn’t want to talk to substitute-Spider-man or Spider-kid because they _aren’t_ the ones he’s looking for. At least someone is taking care of things, even if they are just a kid [or so he thinks] and a poser that Spider-man or Peter Parker have probably hired or asked to help out or whatever.

He keeps calling Spider-man, over and over and over, and curses when he still gets nothing. He really, really has driven Spider-man away, hasn’t he? Probably made him super depressed or mad and now he needs time to cool down, which is why the other are taking care of his shit for him.

Damn it, Wade, can’t you do anything right?!

**[If you could do anything right, this wouldn’t have happened! After all, if you did anything right, you’d actually research this yourself and not trust everything your employer tells you. Didn’t you learn this the first time? Now look at where we are!]**

**{You wouldn’t have to run around all over trying to find the man of our hearts, dreams and love. We wouldn’t be on a wild goose chase, and we wouldn’t have to live with the guilt of Peter Parker’s death. Hey, remember how you killed a pure guy?}**

**[A great guy? You did that, you big tub of stupid. I hope you’re proud of yourself. Bet you are, deep down inside.]**

**{You’re sick.}**

“I don’t **_need this_** right now!” Wade hisses, barely managing to not yell at the voices in his head—he doesn’t want to attract attention, especially not when that attention may get him in trouble. If he remembers clearly, Spider-kid doesn’t like him and the Spider-stand-in may not like him either.

Where’s the real Spider-man when you need him? Maybe if Wade actually starts looking for the man who hired him to kill Peter, had evidence, and ran throughout every Parker industries building then he’d have someone that will _finally_ get him Spider-man, even if it is very belated.

But the idea of finding the man who hired him first and not Spider-man rubs him the wrong way and Wade frowns.

Well, this is going to go very well then.

* * *

Even though he knows it’s a bad idea, Wade ends up going to Peter Parker’s funeral. He doesn’t go as himself, of course, because then he’d freak everyone out and they’d want him  _gone,_ but he uses the same device that he used with Spider-man and disguises himself that way. It’s far too gloomy with all the people here, the air suffocating him and drowning out all thoughts and words in his head and he sees an elderly woman shaking at the very front.

As he looks her over, he realises that everything about her looks far too sickly for even someone of her age, as though she’s suddenly two-thousand years too old for a human instead of probably a seventy or eighty something and Wade can bet that she’s someone important to Peter.

A lot of Peter’s friends are here—Wade recognises some of the superheroes in their civvies, sees members of S.H.I.E.L.D and perhaps even workers from Parker industries attending. Yeah, there are _a lot_ of people here and Wade doesn’t know why he’s here.

He doesn’t _deserve_ to be here, and luckily no one can recognise him or see through his disguise to try and call him out. They don’t know he did it and that makes the guilt that weighs heavy on his back even heavier now and Wade berates himself, over and over, for coming here.

It gets even worse when the elderly woman stands to talk about Peter and he learns she’s her aunt—

The only family that Peter has- had left, and now she’s all alone.

Wade really is a glutton for punishment.

* * *

On the twelfth day of Spider-man’s disappearance, it happens. Wade’s sitting on the rooftops of one of the buildings, hoping that maybe Spider-man will drop down next to him and berate him, lecture him like he deserves, and he even made sure it’s night and all to set a sort of… atmospheric mood, or something.

The darkness washes over him and Wade thinks he rather be washing himself up in Spider-man’s scent… and that sounded better when he pre-thought about it. But no, really, Spider-man smells _heavenly_ and Wade has to wonder how he does that all the time. Does he use some sort of magical perfume or cologne that enhances his natural smell? Maybe smells natural but isn’t actually natural?

What Wade will do just to be able to kiss Spider-man’s fingers and maybe admire his body, even if Spider-man is only using him. He doesn’t think that he’d mind being used by his hero that much, even if Spider-man will… never do that, and not only because he’s dead now.

His heart is too good for that; too good for sinful thoughts and disgusting desires like Wade’s. There are people with normal lusts and desires and then there are those who _hate_ themselves far too much to have a normal fantasy.

[Shiklah’s been working hard on beating those fantasies out of him, even though he knows that she will deny her ever trying to do that. Succubi are weird.]

Where is he—oh right. He’s on the rooftop, it’s dark, and Wade is waiting. Just waiting. Spider-man’s been absent for far too long, even though not everyone seems that aware of it—

No, if anything, people are more aware of Peter Parker’s absence than anything else. After all, someone big died. He’s sure all the talk will calm down soon enough, it already has – considerably – but it’s still the talk.

_Who assassinated Peter Parker, after all?_

In the middle of all his thinking someone lunges at him. For a moment, his heart leaps with joy—he thinks, he _thinks_ it’s Spider-man but…

But it’s not. It’s the Spider-kid, and Wade manages to shove him off before the Spider-kid can land his fifth punch on his face. “Whoahoahooooa there, kiddo!” Wade yells out. “Yo, you, Spider-clone, kid, guy, see, I appreciate you being here and all-“

The kid’s jumping over to him, performing some nice feats of acrobatics that Wade is weirdly proud of though he doesn’t know why, and he has to avoid the kick to his head and oofs when he gets a quick and strong kick to the stomach. “Ompfff- you hit _hard,_ but not hard like Spidey!”

“Shut up!” Spider-kid shouts and Wade has to dodge another punch aimed his way, and another, and manages to land his own on the kid’s stomach when he has the window of opportunity. The noise of pain he gets makes him feel an immediate regret, and Wade can’t help the sorries that tumble out of his mouth without him really thinking about it.

They’re still fighting for a bit, and Wade manages to shove the kid back and nearly pounces when the kid looks like he’s going to stumble and fall off the building. “Sorry, kid, but really! I don’t want to talk to you right now—“

“How sad!” Spider-kid replies sharply. “Because I _really_ want to- no, _need_ to talk to you. Life or death—“ at that point in his speech, Wade yelps as he’s webbed and thrown up before slammed down. “— _kind of thing!_ You know? Like, say, _why did you kill Peter Parker?!”_

Wade isn’t given time to collect himself before the kid is straddling his chest and punching him in the face, over and over. “Why!? Why did you kill him?! He did—he did nothing wrong! _Nothing at all!”_  

 _Ah._ Right. He lets the kid wail on him a bit, Wade’s mind blanking out as he realises that… yeah. He’s finally getting his long overdue punishment. The voices in his head are on overdrive, though he can’t really hear them that well and the kid is just trembling atop of him. “Will you answer me already?! I didn’t search for you for days just to get this! I didn’t search for you for _days_ just for you to be quiet!”

“Listen, kid,” Wade says with a sigh and he catches the kid’s fist and lets go immediately,“I didn’t come here for _you._ I’m flattered and all that you’re looking for me, but you’re really young, probably have a life ahead of you, bla bla, yadda yada, insert cliché motivational speech here. I’m looking for the actual Spider-man—“

He’s interrupted by a hard punch to the face that whips his head to the side and he’s _sure_ that if the kid had punched… a little harder, he’d be dead right now. Like, yes, sure, him dying doesn’t matter but Spider-kid seems too young to kill a guy. He tries to say something, maybe playfully berate the kid before he shoves him off, but he’s frozen solid by the next set of words that come out of Spider-kid’s mouth.

“ ** _I’M THE ONLY SPIDER-MAN NOW!_** ” the kid barks out then, choking on his own quivering, broken voice and his own sobs, and Wade ever so slowly turns his head to stare at him uncomprehendingly.

The words take a long time to register. To both of them, actually. Spider-kid’s staring at him, his chest heaving and his body shaking, and he finally stumbles and shoves himself away from Wade when he realises what he has said and crumbles into a heap, turning away from him.

Wade wants to ask what the kid means. He wants to. He wants to assume that—that that means that Spider-man just quit. Maybe he left. That is what it _has_ to mean. But the words don’t come out and Wade isn’t even looking at Spider-kid sitting a small distance away from him, with shoulders shaking, and quiet.

There’s a damnable silence that hangs over them both, and even the voices are horribly silent. The words are still taking time to register in Wade’s head, bouncing around what feels like the emptiness of his skull, and his mouth opens and closes a few times.

 _‘I killed Spider-man.’_ he thinks, realisation crushing his chest like a boulder and he finds that he can’t _breathe_ suddenly. _‘I killed Spider-man. I thought Spider-man was a monster. I thought Spider-man was a torturer. A sadist. A scumbag.’_

Everything around him fades away into actual, pitch black, as though he’s back in limbo. The voices are numbingly quiet, and the silence isn’t what he needs right now—but the sounds of the cars of NYC fade away, fading and fading until they aren’t even distant _hums_ in the back of his head, and he doesn’t think Spider-kid is talking to him right now.

 

_‘Spider-man being Peter Parker’s hero…’_

_‘The silence.’_

_‘The calls not being returned.’_

_‘The texts.’_

_‘I killed him.’_

 

He can’t even bring himself to move. He’s sure that he’s staring at the night sky, but the blackness of the night seems to have wrapped itself up around him, holding him in an embrace tight enough to suffocate, and everything is hushed.

The only voice he hears in his head is his own reminding him of how he killed Spider-man.

 

 

A small distance away, Miles sits and shakes and glares at his fists, chest rising and falling shakily, and he turns around to stare at the mercenary that has yet to move. He looks as still as a statue and Miles is sure he’d assume that Deadpool is dead if it isn’t for his slowly rising chest.

Standing up, he exhales and looks away. “I’ll come for you later.” His voice doesn’t have the threat in it that he wants it to have—no. He’s _angry._ Angry for giving Peter away, angry at Deadpool for killing him, and angry at the man for daring to even _think_ he can talk to Spider-man, ever again.

Peter Parker is dead because of Wade Wilson, and Spider-man has gone down with him.

He extends his arm and shoots out a web and swings away, leaving Deadpool in the lonesome that Miles himself feels once more, and hopes that someone out there is stupid enough to try and commit a crime so that he can feel better.

Miles is still a hero, even if Wade isn’t.

* * *

Wade doesn’t know how he has the strength to go back to his home, but he somehow finds himself back there, lying on the couch he has been cursed to for a month, and stares at the wall. The voices are still quiet, stunned silent still like Wade himself is, and he wants to – he wants to scream.

Really, he does. He wants to scream and break everything around him. He wants to gouge his own eyes out. He wants to stab himself and kill himself until he comes back, and then do it again and again just to see if he can even get a glimpse of Peter, to say sorry.

To apologise in person for what he has done.

But death can’t come for him, and it’s not like Wade thinks he’ll ever go to Heaven. People like him? Go to Heaven? Who the hell is he kidding? Peter is probably in—in Heaven or Valhalla or whatever, and he’s dead. He’s plain dead.

He’s dead, probably at someplace better, and Wade will never be able to see him—whether it be in actually dying, or to meet him soul to soul.

Spider-man has a pure soul. Wade never did have a doubt that Spider-man is perfect; in body, in mind, in skills, and now apparently in death too. Who the hell would have known that Spider-man is pure as hell?! _Everyone._

He doesn’t even _kill villains._ He mourns over the ones he kills by accident. _Peter Parker is a great guy. He’s an amazing person. He’s perfect in every way._ And Wade Wilson killed him. His friend—

... he—

Peter thought that Wade is on his way to becoming a good person. He thought that Wade is becoming a better person. He thanked him for a good night, and Wade repays him by shooting him in the head twice, and in the chest a few times. Peter thought that Wade is on the good path, and Wade thought that Peter is a scumbag, murderous CEO.

“Wade.” Shiklah calls out, her voice warbled and weird in his ears and Wade wonders if he stabbed himself in the ears and they’re healing right now. “What are you doing?”

“Peter Parker was Spider-man.” He blurts out, and she stares at him for a bit. Her expression is normal, then her eyes widen by only a fraction when realisation dawns on her fully. Sure, she doesn’t really get why Wade likes him – never will, he bets, and that’s why he loves his succubus queen wife that will happily rip him apart and feed him to the hell dogs – but… “I killed my hero.”

“Ah. And what do you plan to do about that, Wade?”

“You need to kill me.”

She coughs into her fist and slides down next to Wade, elegant and graceful in ways that he’ll never be, and Shiklah tilts her head back at him. “You can’t die.” She reminds him, tone incredulous, and Wade shakes his head.

“I know! Babe, I know and, frankly, I am _insulted_ that you felt that you had the need to remind me. Trust me, I’m reminding myself right now. A lot. Like, fifty-hundred times, babe. Fifty-thousand is better. I wish I could die, then I’d say sorry to Petey, but _Petey_ is in—is in Heaven, I bet, not in Hell where I thought he’d be tortured for the rest of his life. Why would he be? Holy shit, why would he-“

Shiklah slaps him then; though it’s not hard, or anything, just enough to knock him out of his rambling. “Wade, make your point.”

He inhales sharply. “I need you to keep my soul dead long enough for me to get Death to bring Peter back to life.”

“They can’t do that.” Shiklah hisses out. “And this _is not_ jealousy, before you go on another tangent. Death is _Death._ They do not give life.”

“But they brought me back!”

“Because you will never die, Wade.”

“We need—we _need_ to give it a try. Please, Shik, I need to do this.”

They look at each other for a bit and Wade palms and rubs at his head, traces over scars and Shiklah shakes her head. “I’ll do it.” She relents. “But do not do anything with them, or you will be stuck on the couch for _a year.”_

* * *

Actually dying is not something that Wade gets to enjoy all that often. Or, well, ever. Even when he’s dead, he’s more than conscious in the living world – there’s no pain for a while before he regenerates and comes back, but he can think and if he can think and see the world around him then death has yet to claim him tonight.

But with whatever Shiklah is doing, with her magic, he actually gets to taste it. It’s a sweet and sour taste for him; it burns his throat before the sweetness kicks in, easing it, and Wade has to ponder if that means anything.

Probably does, doesn’t care right now. He needs to find Death. He needs to find them.

Wade is sure he’s in the netherworld again; the limbo of all limbos. Maybe an actual limbo. He wonders if it’ll be like the Grim Adventures of Billy and Mandy where Death and him try to do the limbo, but he cheats and Death loses… except he’s sure that Death would suffer as a result of it, and he decides better than to do play with the… heart… of Death.

**{I don’t think Death even has a heart.}**

**[Probably a brain; emotions are chemicals!]**

**{Or they’re probably something else entirely.}**

**[You’re not fun.]**

**{I am being _reasonable,_ which is _weird_ and I should not be reasonable because _we killed Spidey.}_**

**[Jerk, I was pretending that never happened.]**

**{How could you ignore the fact that we killed the best person in the whole wide world?! Forget chances, we just shat them all out and fed them to pigs!}**

**[Why pigs?]**

**{Pigs eat everything!}**

He suspected that the voices’ silence wouldn’t last… though, for once, he’s actually _grateful_ for them being here. Who knew that _silence_ is worse than the arguing, bitter voices in your head that demean you at any and every turn?

**[You killed Spider-man.]**

**{Even we’re better than the guilt.}**

“Yeah, yeah. You are.”

 

 

 

Finding Death takes time, though not as long as he thinks it did. Shiklah doesn’t give him a warning just yet, like he knows she will, and the world around him warps to the sea of skulls like it did before with—with…

With Peter’s death.

No, with his murder.

**[No sense hiding from it now, big guy.]**

**{You are a murderer.}**

**[And you killed the one guy who had faith in you.]**

He rubs at his masked head, exhales through his mouth – though, Wade doesn’t think he can exhale if he’s technically dead – and walks through the land of skulls and misery before he stumbles upon Death. They’re standing at the very top of a pile of skulls, looking down at him with curious, black eyes and golden irises.

“Wade,” they call out and he laughs nervously as he climbs his way upwards. “You’re here. Again. And you still have your healing factor, so I am not so lucky this time either.”

Getting to them is… it feels like a journey, even though it takes less than ten seconds for him to climb up to Death. They’re staring, almost as though they don’t know what to do with themself now that the one person they can’t have is before their face again and Wade coughs into his fist. Or, kind of does. “So.” He begins. “This must be the shittiest thing to see, and, y’know, I get it. It’s like dingle dangling the one thing you can’t have. A carrot at the end of an endless hallway!”

“You need something.” Death says, straight to the point, and their hands rise to cup his face. “And I’m here to listen, though I doubt I can give.”

Wade grabs their fragile wrists and gently, ever so gently, removes it from his face. Death doesn’t seem that bothered, and waits – patiently – for him to answer. “I… killed someone I really shouldn’t have. You saw me here, last time; I tried to save him.”

“Peter Parker.” Death cants their head back. “He rejected the offer of Valhalla, and went to Heaven instead. Not even Thor can see him.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I— wait, what? Spidey—Petey rejected Valhalla? Why? I’d kill to be there! Not—not literally. I am never killing again after this mess, never, but-”

Death interrupts him. “He had people in Heaven; people he knew. But that isn’t a story I want to share. What do you want, Wade?”

He slumps his shoulders. “Can you bring him back?”

“Back?”

“To life.

“I _take_ life, Wade.” They say, their voice quieter than before, and he has to strain to hear them properly. “I can’t give it back. I am not Life.”

“But you have access to his soul! You have to! You can go to Heaven and Hell – I know, I know you can! You have to bring him back!”

Their eyes narrow at him, at his desperation, and Wade feels himself freeze in place. “Please.” He says. “Please, bring Peter Parker back to life. I killed him. I made a shitty mistake and I fucking killed him, and I really, really don’t have the ability to pay for my mistakes. Seriously, I don’t. I lash out; it comes with the whole territory. Fucked up origin story, fucked up personality! Package deal. So, Death, do me a solid and bring him back. Please. You _have_ to.”

He’s strangling in the silence and he swallows the thick lump in his throat. His stomach flips, over and over and over, as the anxiety grows and festers in his belly. “Will you?” he asks, voice tight.

Skeletal fingers lift his mask up, sink into the soft, unscarred flesh that Wade _wants_ to return to, and Death stares into his eyes. “You won’t like the result.” Death warns, and then…

“Wade!” Shiklah calls out as Wade sits up suddenly, the sword in his chest yanked out to help him do so, and he gasps and wheezes for air as though he has been drowning. “You’re… out earlier than I expected.”

“They’re going to bring him back!” Wade cries out as he turns and grabs Shiklah’s shoulders, eyes wide and body shaking with joy. “Peter’s coming back! Spidey—I’m gonna… I’m gonna make up for everything, Shikkie. Oh baby, I feel so good I just wanna show it to you all over!”

The smirk on her face makes him tingle all over. “Oh, you are _finally_ saying something that makes some semblance of sense.”

And then Wade faints.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Heaven’s a warm place. It feels… homely, more than it has ever felt in his entire life. He breathes in and practically tastes the sun, tastes something sweet on the tip of his tongue and something kind and welcoming, and Peter closes his eyes to let the area around him to wash over him. Everything around him is soft, kind and loving.

He hasn’t felt welcome somewhere in… years, and now—here he is. Bathing in literal sun, wrapped in sweetness that he will never taste in life, and Peter hasn’t felt this free for a long, long time. The world around him is golden and beautiful, and he’s in the house of his dreams, able to live in a world where he _still_ has to work for what he wants and yet he is welcome to walk around without worry of villains, fighting.

This is death, and Peter feels peaceful. Sure, he still has a lot he has wanted to do when he was alive – but there isn’t really much he can do about that. The best he can do is actually enjoy his afterlife, enjoy the serenity that serenades him like wind chimes, and breathe easy knowing that there are still people in his absence that can and will take care of everything.

It’s funny; when Peter thinks about it, he remembers himself – alive – thinking about how it’d be a waste if he died, how he’d want nothing more than life to come back to him so that he can finish the responsibilities he has.

But life works in funny ways, and sometimes it’s completely taken from you without your knowledge or consent. Or without your time actually arriving.

There are a lot of questions he wants to ask so many people on both Heaven and Earth, but the latter is far out of his control now. Earth is beyond him, and so are his troubles and his pains, and Heaven is the friend’s embrace that Peter never did realise he needed.

He can enjoy everything that he could alive, and he thinks that for now he wants to sleep and be wrapped up in the sweet dreams instead of the endless nightmares and the insomnia that plagued him when he lived.

The door to his house (a house in Heaven- what a thing to think about) is knocked on and Peter rises from the chair he’s sitting on without thinking. He passes by the pictures of Ben, May and himself and his heart warms when he remembers that his uncle is here, though his aunt is unfortunately alone.

His smile fades when he opens the door and he finds himself greeted by the ghastly figure that he never did expect to meet again—though, the robes are coloured cream, as though the purity of Heaven washed away the blackness of death.

“Why are you here?” Peter asks without thinking, eyes wide, and Death stares down at him with a grim expression. “I’m _already_ dead, you didn’t make a mistake here or anything and you did not forget about me.”

Death stares at him still and Peter hesitates. “Am… I not dead? Is this what you’re here to-“ Peter begins, only to go cold as he’s interrupted once more.

“I’m here,” Death says, the words stabbing through his chest, “to bring you back.”

 

 

 

And then his heaven is torn from him, and Peter finds himself screaming as he’s dragged into the depths of the world itself. Heat wraps around him—hot hot hot and suffocating, wrapping around his throat and strangling as he is surrounded by magma and a form of black ooze that he can’t really identify. He claws at the burning walls, skin itching and scratching as though it is peeling and Peter coughs and chokes on his own bile.

The only thing that rises in his throat is water, however, and he claws and desperately tries to move up, up, up and escape, and he forces himself to climb even though he doesn’t know why he is. This is a nightmare—perhaps, perhaps it is, and perhaps he’s wrong that even he can have nightmares in Heaven—

But the scorching around him, the heaviness in his lungs and the sinking of his stomach tells him otherwise. He’s drowning—and he doesn’t know how he is, where he is, but he—

He needs to get out of here. He needs to keep climbing. He needs to-

* * *

When Wade wakes up, it’s been a few days later, and he doesn’t really know what the hell has been happening while he has been away. Shiklah’s next to him, arms crossed and an elegant eyebrow arched, and Wade smiles sheepishly. “Yo, so… I had a few days nap,” Wade says, as casual as can be after his wake up, and Shiklah snorts at him. “I feel really fucking tired, Shik. Like, I ran a marathon tired. I had sex for five years tired, except I oh-so-rudely passed out when we were gonna fuck. Have you ever had sex for five years straight, though? You’d probably lose your winding wet hooha—but you’re a succubus, so maybe you’re used to it. Can a succubus lose her fun tunnel?”

“No, Wade, I doubt succubi can lose their vagina.” Shiklah responds, though a smile tugs at her lips when Wade seems to be fine. “Though, I do take it you are in one whole piece, yes? Feeling very mouthy today? Or has death robbed you of that privilege?”

“Babe,” Wade says and Shiklah groans, “I’m _always_ mouthy. May not have the face for it anymore, but I am a mouthy throne, obviously. You wanna try me out? It’s been a few days, maybe you wanna reacquaint the place that rhymes with regina rhymes with fun on my mouth…”

Shiklah smirks, her teeth sinking into her lower lip and she shifts to face him fully on the bed – oh, when did Shiklah move him to the bedroom? – and she raises an eyebrow. “You know I _always_ enjoy your mouth.”

“I’m the merc with the mouth for a reason.” He says, ignoring the unease that settles deep in his belly as he tries not to think about whether or not Peter has returned. For now, he needs to indulge in something to keep himself busy.

**[Get our dicks white!]**

**{You mean wet?}**

**[And white. With cum. And semen. So much semen. She’s gonna milk us good.]**

**{She totally is.}**

**[Then we can start thinking about how we can make it up to our baby boy because we brutally and coldly shot him!]**

**{For now, sex time! Kinky, horrible, hard sex time!}**

**[Hell yeah!]**

For some reason, he doesn’t feel good. Shiklah helps him forget.

* * *

Wade’s sitting on a roof again—rather,  _their_ roof. His and Spidey’s—the roof where they would meet often, sit and argue and maybe even have tacos. He doesn’t move from there—only to maybe get some food and make sure he’s not starving as he’s sitting there and waiting for Death to bring Peter back.

He knows they’ll do. He just… he just _knows._ Maybe he’s wrong—

**[You’re definitely wrong.]**

**{What did Shiklah and Death say?}**

**[Death takes, and doesn’t give?]**

**{You forgot about that, big guy. I don’t think Peter is going to come back.}**

“Yes he will!” Wade barks out. “Death said—“

**{Death said you won’t like the outcome!}**

**[Maybe that means Petey’ll come back as a zombie—maybe as something even worse. Maybe we ruined his life, ruined his chance at heaven.]**

**{If you become a zombie, you can never return, can you? Never, at all.}**

**[Your soul is dead, forever.]**

**{You fucked his life up, didn’t you?}**

“Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!” Wade yells, body tense and teeth gritting. He squeezes his fists tight and he squares his shoulders. “I didn’t ruin anything! I’m fixing everything! I’m bringing Peter back, and I’m going to fix all of this! Damn it! I’m going to fix-“

He stops thinking when he hears something behind him—a shimmering and glimmering, and Wade thinks this is what gold sounds like. If gold had a sound, that is. This is definitely what it’d sound like; faint and barely there, Wade turns around to face the source of the sound and he sees the glimpses of black sparks.

_‘Am I being attacked?’_

**[Probably. Somebody from the netherly regions of the nether probably wants you to die.]**

**{Maybe forever? Hopefully forever! Hopefully this pitiful torment is over and I don’t have to be here with big dumbass and asshole here.}**

**[Hey! It ain’t no walk in the park with you around either, buddy!]**

**{At least you don’t have to deal with yourself! Have you listened to yourself?!}**

**[Uh, yeah? I’m a bunch of awesome!]**

“You’re a bunch of annoying, more like it.” Wade snaps out, but his attention is taken away from the voices in his head when he sees the sparks actually begin to form a shape—a very, very humanoid shape. The voices in his head are drowned out by his own thoughts, the screaming words of ‘ _that’s Peter? That’s Peter? Is that Peter? Did Death bring him back?’_ repeating over and over and blacking everything else out.

Then, the shadow turns into flesh in pajama clothes and Wade drops his guns that he subconsciously grabbed.

It’s Peter. On his knees, with his arms wrapped around himself and his body shaking, head bowed down, is Peter Parker – Spider-man – in the flesh. _Alive._

 _Death brought him back._ He’s moving to Peter without even thinking, his feet refusing to obey his thoughts that are moving ten kilometres per second and at the voices in his head that have escalated into surprised shrieking.

He falls onto his knees besides Peter and wraps his arms around him, holds him close, and laughs like a madman when he realises that he succeeded.

Peter is back. He’s _back._ Peter is here, alive, and he’s—he’s—

He’s shaking in Wade’s arms, and he leans back to take in Peter’s tear-stained face. He’s staring up at Wade, his doe-eyes wide with horror and fear, but he isn’t moving away despite his awful trembling. “You… _killed_ me.” Peter says, devastating horror dripping from his voice, and Wade can only stare at the trauma painted on his face. “You killed me.” His breath hitches as he says that and Wade shushes Peter’s sobbing.

“How—how could you—how—you killed me.” He’s sobbing and curling into Wade, his hands curling into shaky fists on his pajama sleeves, and Peter is trembling. He’s trembling and shaking in Wade’s arms and the crying is getting louder and louder. “Ki—kihhi—kihhi…”

Wade cups Peter’s face and makes him look at him, though he doesn’t move him back much and he takes in the way the Spider-man he recognises trembles and shakes, face stricken and horrified as though he went through something awful…

This isn’t what Wade wanted, but Peter’s back and alive.

Peter’s alive.

 

 

And his hatred towards Wade is worth it.


End file.
